


Passions Unearthed

by NorroenDyrd



Series: All That Glitters [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession, Dinner, Dragonborn DLC, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Kolbjorn Barrow, Mind Control, Mind Games, POV First Person, Possession, Rare Pairings, Raven Rock, Solstheim, slight drunkenness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5777917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralis Sedarys and the enthusiastic, slightly naive female Altmer that is sponsoring his dig at Kolbjorn Barrow find themselves falling for one another. But, of course, the ancient Dragon Priest that is pulling Ralis' strings has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passions Unearthed

**Author's Note:**

> At the time when I wrote this story, I was not aware that Ralis does not drink (I just never offered him any sujamma during Geldis' quest). But I suppose, in his current state he might have gulped down some sujamma without even knowing what he was doing.

The whisper grows ever louder, pounding inside my head, cracking at my skull as the picks of the miners have been cracking at the rock-hard, congealed ash. I cannot make out the words, but I sense the anger throbbing inside the whisper - red-hot, overpowering, making me wince in pain and clutch my head.   
  
The leader of the small mercenary group that I have hired after the last draugr break - a burly, tattooed Orc with jutting fangs and the squarest jaw I have ever seen - gapes at me in surprise as I try to pass him the coinpurse. My hands shake uncontrollably, and as the purse is tied very loosely - my partner has never been good at safeguarding her money, that much I already know - the coins come showering down to the ground, gleaming like drops of summer rain, the kind that suddenly sprinkles the grass and the leaves while the sky overhead is bright blue, and the sun is shining... I have not seen clear skies and bright sunlight for the Three only know how long... My thoughts grow all muddled and confused, darting wildly from one subject to another; my splitting headache makes me unable to focus, and the whisper never ceases, hissing, rustling, drowning out everything else...  
  
Afraid that the force of this enraged voice, spitting fire inside my mind, will bring tears to my eyes, I blurt out some vague excuse and stumble away from the campsite, where I have been negotiating with the mercenaries. As I trudge blindly towards the barrow's entrance, I think I can hear the Orc mutter to himself,  
  
'Sheesh, that elf musta drunk a lot of sujamma to want a leak so badly...'  
  
I stumble through the barrow door and throw myself onto my knees, bending forward so that my forehead touches the floor. The cool touch of the stone lessens the flame that is eating away at my skull - but not for long. The whisper still rages inside of me, lapping against my temples like a river of lava.  
  
'Please, Master...' I groan chokingly, scraping the floor with my fingers. 'Please... Why are you so angry at me? I have brought you new souls to claim...'  
  
At long last, the whisper moulds itself into coherent words. He speaks his will to me. The spirit that entered my mind when I first began this accursed excavation, and that has been fighting for complete control over me ever since. The dark, powerful presence that calls itself my Master.  
  
My Master, the great Azhidal, has been interred in this tomb for far too long; he longs to burst free and strike terror into the hearts of the mortals that dwell in Raven Rock - and he insists that he needs my help to fulfill his plans.   
  
This 'help' of mine involves gathering mortal souls that Master can use to replenish his strength; I dare not hazard a guess what this actually means... I am still a little vague on that; before the first group of miners turned up dead, the whisper inside my head grew so loud that I blacked out for several hours. There is this thought, lurking somewhere deep down, haunting me, tearing at my conscience with venom-coated claws... The thought that I - that I killed those miners. Sacrificed them to my Master, so he could feast on the life essence trapped inside their frail mortal bodies. I hope, I pray to the sweet Mother of Roses, that it is not true - but I cannot be sure. I cannot be sure of anything that is happening to me. I live suspended in between waking and dream; hardly anything is certain, hardly anything is real - except... Except the voice of my Master.  
  
And my Master speaks his will to me.  
  
 _'I do not want those pathetic morsels!'_ he spits, sending an unbearable surge of pain through my entire body - as though I have been stung by a lightning bolt. _'If you keep feeding me leftovers, I will never gain the power to live again! No, I want a true feast, a soul that can quell my hunger once and for all! I want the soul of a dragon'._  
  
A dragon? Surely, Master cannot expect me to hunt down a dragon? I shudder all over, gathering myself up into a small, tense lump - foolishly hoping that this way, Master's wrath will hurt me less.  
  
'I... I cannot grant your wish, oh great Azhidal... A humble treasure hunter like me is no match for - '  
  
 _'You fool!'_ Master's voice lashes at me like a whip. _'I do not mean a dragon soul woven into the flesh and bones of a winged beast; I mean a dragon soul contained in a mortal vessel. This woman that comes to the barrow time and again; I have sensed her. I have sensed the power within her. I want her dead. I want her blood spilled on the stones of my tomb - by your hand'._  
  
Slowly, I lift my head and straighten up my upper body, panting. Not - not her. Not Aredhel.  
  
  
I remember the day when she first showed up at my campsite. An Altmer, tall and slender as a reed, with one of those agelessly beautiful faces - warped only by a large gnarled mark, as though from a burn, on the lower side of her left cheek. Surprisingly friendly for one of her kind; and so very eager - glancing at every tiny rock under her feet, every cloud overhead as though she wanted to commit it to memory and store it in some boundless catalogue inside her mind.   
  
She immediately bombarded me with questions about my excavation, which had already given ample fuel to rumours back at Raven Rock, and without a second thought, parted with a sizeable pouch of septims to finance my venture - much to the chagrin of the dark-haired Nord woman that accompanied her.   
  
'I will be more than happy to sponsor you,' she said as we shook hands, a good-natured smile crinkling the skin round her emerald eyes.   
  
I had seen this on human faces, but so very seldom on meric ones; and definitely never on an Altmer's - and watching these little crows' feet, as they traced their way out of her eyes' corners, was strangely - strangely endearing. Soothing even. I - I can almost swear that when our eyes met, my Master's ceaseless whispering, for a moment, trailed off into silence.  
  
'I am simply fascinated by archaeology... But then again, I am fascinated by every and any area of human and meric knowledge! And this wonderful island is simply steeped in ancient lore; I am actually a bit at a loss where to turn next, because I am learning something new with every step I make!'  
  
At that point, the Nord woman coughed into her fist.  
  
'Speaking of making steps, my Thane - shouldn't we be seeking out that Neloth character?'  
  
She bit into her lower lip, her eyes sparkling mischievously.  
  
'Oh, Lydia, Lydia,' she sang, poking the Nord's pauldron. 'Where would I be without you?'  
  
'I really can't say, my Thane,' the Nord said in an even-toned, emotionless voice.  
  
In the meanwhile, her 'Thane' had turned back to me again.  
  
'Well, as you see, we have to go... I can't believe I will get lucky enough to see a real Telvanni wizard in the flesh - and one that still remembers the times before the Red Year, too, from what rumours say! Oh, what an enlightening conversation we shall have!.. Uhm, I think I'm rambling again...' she jerked her shoulders sheepishly. 'I hope I will hear news of your progress soon, partner!'  
  
'Ralis,' I said hoarsely, suddenly finding myself mesmerized by the way the light played on her face, outlining its contours in soft, broad golden strokes. 'Ralis Sedarys of Mournhould'.  
  
'Aredhel,' she introduced herself in turn.  
  
  
Aredhel. It is strange how a mere word - a short, sigh-like word of three syllables - can shoot a jolt through one's heart like a spear enchanted to deal shock damage. Strange how a mere smile, a glance, a familiar shadow trailing over the frozen waves of the ashen sea, can subdue the restless whispers and make one able to breathe freely for a few blissful minutes.   
  
After each of her brief visits - to talk to me, to ask how the dig was going, to generously pour in a little more gold to cover the bonuses for miners (Lydia would brood silently in the background, evidently disapproving of her Thane's light-hearted approach to budgeting) - Master would torment me with a tripled force, making me little short of roll on the tomb's floor while he was screeching inside my head and tearing at my flesh from within - angry, perhaps, because Aredhel had always somehow managed to lessen his control over me. But this pain, this punishment, it was always - always worth it.   
  
There is something about that strange Altmer; an Altmer that knows how to smile and laugh; an Altmer that does not look down upon other races; an Altmer that, according to her own words, has spent most of her lengthy adolescence and youth travelling round Tamriel in constant pursuit of knowledge, knowledge of anything, from the arcane arts and the hidden messages of ancient bardic verses to dual-wielding swords and axes and cooking complex Hammerfell dishes... Something that makes me feel - warm. Sometimes, terrified of my Master's wrath, I try to tell myself (and him) that this probably is yet another trick of my worn-out mind, that she is nothing more than the money donor of our little operation... But I myself have trouble believing it. The warmth is there; it comes whenever Aredhel is around, and it drowns out my Master's voice.   
  
And I don't even want to get started on those subtle curves of her figure beneath a thin blue hooded robe, and on the chiseled lines of her face... Because if I did, I would never finish. It is hard, being a Dunmer stuck in the mild of the ashen wilds without the comfort of a woman's touch, and with an angry spirit constantly forcing him to do his bidding.  
  
  
'Master, you must be mistaken - how can Aredhel have the soul of a dragon?' I stammer faintly, my heart going numb and cold.  
  
 _'It does not matter how - she does have a dragon's soul, and I want this soul to be mine!'_  
  
The last word rings through my head like a powerful burst of destructive magic. With a stifled whimper, I sprawl across the stone floor - and remain lying there, limp as a ragdoll, till the silence is broken by two sets of footsteps.  
  
'Ralis?'   
  
Gods, it's her voice... Aredhel must have come to check on me as usual and, not having found me at our meeting spot, rushed into the excavation to look for me. I can sense the anxiety in her voice; and despite my pathetic state, it still makes me feel - rather like a pet imga that has its belly tickled.  
  
'Ralis? Are you all right? I can heal you...'  
  
'I am fine,' I croak, getting to my feet and glancing around groggily. 'Just tripped over a loose stone and had the stupidest fall'.  
  
She reaches out to brush the ash off my armour, and as she touches me, Master's voice stirs inside me once again - weak, but not vanquished completely; coiling and uncoiling like a snake,  
  
 _'Kill her! Kill her now, while she is close to my tomb!'_  
  
I clench my jaw. I may be a miserable worm in the service of great Azhidal - but this is too much. I cannot possibly draw a merciless, dripping red line across that long, tender throat; I cannot possibly put out the glow of those deep green eyes; I cannot possibly silence the voice that sends such a wonderful shiver down my spine when it calls my name.  
  
'You... You have seen the mercenaries, I presume,' I say, struggling to keep up a calm, undisturbed appearance, while ushering the two women out of the barrow - away, away from the source of those dark whispers.  
  
'Oh, yes!' Aredhel replies enthusiastically. 'You are putting my money to excellent use! I always knew I could rely on you!'   
  
Here, she casts a very meaningful look at Lydia.   
  
'Actually, I was going to offer you a little... er... break...'   
  
She looks up into my face, her expression so open and sincere that I mentally curse myself for as much as contemplating laying my hand on her.   
  
'You are always so hard at work; you should look at yourself! Your eyes are so sunken and surrounded by all these deep lines... and your face has grown much thinner since I last saw you...'  
  
I pass my hand over my four-day stubble, flustered like a small boy. She - she cares about how I look? About how much I work? Oh, dear gods, if I could just flip back a page, like in a book, and listen to her say this one more time...  
  
'I thought it would be g-good for you,' she goes on, fumbling for words under Lydia's intent indignant glare... Or is it the look in my own eyes that makes her stammer so much? 'If you went to the Netching Retch... That is, to the Retching Netch... To have a meal with us. A good, proper meal... I can even give you ten septims for a room, so you may sleep in a real bed for once...'  
  
 _'No... Don't let her lead you away... Kill her here!'_ Master chokes in rage.  
  
I jerk my head from side to side and say breathlessly,  
  
'That would be great, Aredhel. Thank you'.  
  
  
  
'Another helping of that?' Geldis asks, grinning slyly, as I push away the empty bowl, with splashes of ash hopper stew trailing down to its bottom.  
  
My stomach gurgles; as Master's voice grew stronger and stronger for the past few weeks, I would often find myself skipping meals for several days in a row - and now that we have moved away from the barrow,  I have suddenly realized that I am terribly, ravenously hungry.   
  
I glance sideways at Aredhel - and she gives me a reassuring nod.  
  
'It's all right, Ralis. You can eat as much as you want. I am paying'.  
  
Lydia, who has also perched herself on a rickety wooden chair at the same table as Aredhel and me, lets out a loud, 'Hrmph!'. But I ignore her, and as soon as Geldis glides up to us and sets down another bowl of stew, I tuck into it with the fury of a feral animal.  
  
After a few minutes of munching and gulping, the hunger begins to recede, and I lean back in my chair and ask, nibbling idly at a crust of bread, which I used to wipe traces of gravy off my upper lip,  
  
'So... Do you take every poor, starving mer you meet out to dinner, or should I consider myself special?'  
  
I try to speak as loudly and light-heartedly as I can, to conceal the dumb, blank terror that begins to creep up from the pit of my stomach. Master has begun whispering to me again. I thought he wouldn't be able to reach into my head this far from the barrow... But - but I guess we have already merged too closely together, and I am doomed to carry him with me wherever I go.  
  
Aredhel blushes a faint pink, which makes her cheeks look like those fruit I have seen in the markets... imported somewhere from Daggerfall... Peaches.  
  
'I... I have not taken anyone out for dinner before...' she says, picking at her half-eaten ash yam with a fork. 'Nor has anyone taken me... I got this,' she cocks her head to one side so her shoulder touches her scar, 'At a rather young age... after a trek across the wilds that ended in an encounter with a giant, venom-spitting serpent... This did not reflect too well on my success with suitors. My kinsmer tend to be... picky when it comes to appearances'.  
  
'Your kinsmer are fools,' I blurt out before I can stop myself. 'A Dunmer would never push away a woman just because she has a scar!'  
  
'I would think not,' Lydia grumbles through her teeth.  
  
'And... And any suitor who did not think you worthy missed out on a lot!' I add breathlessly, in a hurry to say what I want to say before the whispers fully invade my mind again.  
  
She smiles to herself.  
  
'You are probably just saying this because you have had three glasses of sujamma to wash down your stew... But I am flattered nonetheless'.  
  
Oh, curses. She is still in the middle of her phrase when Master's vice-like grip closes round my aching mind. Staring glassily ahead of myself, I reach out for Aredhel's travelling satchel, tossed carelessly on the floor next to the leg of her chair. Its clasps are unfastened, and looking at it from the side, I can see a small, raindrop-shaped greenish phial; these are used to store spider venom, a potent liquid that slows down anyone who consumes it. My movements are strangely, mechanically precise, as though someone else is leading my hand by the puppet strings; while Aredhel is talking, I close my fingers round the phial, take it out of the satchel - and slip the contents into Lydia's mug. The Nord does not notice my movement; she is too busy glaring at her Thane and, apparently, silently scolding her for spilling her soul to a Dark Elf she barely knows.  
  
After the deed is done, I lower the phial to the floor at my side, taking great care not to make it clank, and raise my glass into the air, smiling.  
  
'It is going to take a lot more than what I've drunk to cloud my judgment. You deserve all the flattery in the world, and more... In fact, I would like to propose a toast to this little dig of ours; it has given me a chance to meet an amazing woman... two amazing women such as yourself and your valiant Housecarl'.  
  
Lydia does not seem too impressed; but even she cannot fight back the small tick in the corner of her mouth. I have often noticed that my voice has a most... mesmerizing effect on women, if I do say so myself. And now I can use this to lull them into trusting me, to complete what my Master has in store for Aredhel... No. Gods, no... Please...  
  
As my partner's face flushes even deeper, and she gazes at me tenderly from beneath lowered eyelids, her eyes glowing warmly, Master's voice hisses softly inside my skull; for once, he seems satisfied. I look at Aredhel over the edge of my glass... wondering how much of what I have just said has been part of his plan, loathing myself for deceiving my partner - and desperately longing for my words to come from my own heart.  
  
She clanks her glass against mine.  
  
'To the dig'.  
  
Lydia hovers for a moment, but finally mimics her Thane's gesture, wedging her mug in between our glasses, as though trying to keep us apart.  
  
'To the dig'.   
  
I follow the movements of Lydia's hand and lips unblinkingly as she lifts the mug to her lips and drains it. The whisper rubs itself against my skull like a content Khajiit. Yes. This is it. The poison will soon take effect, and Aredhel's faithful watchdog will be completely incapacitated, unable to as much as get up from her chair; and with her out of the way, I can safely lure Aredhel back to the barrow again, and - and...  
  
'Actually, now that you've mentioned it...' I drawl slowly, trying to make my voice sound as huskily enticing as I can, 'I do feel a little giddy... Perhaps a little walk out of town will clear my head... I will more than appreciate your company, of course...'  
  
Aredhel leaps from her seat, so eagerly that she almost tears her robe.  
  
'That is an excellent idea!'  
  
She allows me to sweep her underneath the arm; I look into her face, Master jeering triumphantly inside my head. My partner, the well-mannered wandering scholar that she is, is definitely not used to drinking; the couple of glasses of sujamma that she has had at dinner are beginning to affect her - she giggles at my touch and leans against me, ever so slightly, as she walks by my side... There is excitement in her eyes, and childish glee; too absorbed by the sensation of our proximity, she does not even notice that Lydia is struggling to get up, her frozen limbs refusing to obey her and her eyes widening in silent terror. As we head towards the exit, I cast one farewell look at the poor Housecarl; if only she knew how sorry I am for what I've done... For what I am about to do... For obeying my Master's orders...  
  
We cross the square and head past the Bulwark; Aredhel lets me steer her along the ashen path, back to the barrow, lets me support her, despite her being slightly taller than me. By the Three - she trusts me. She trusts me so much...  
  
 _'Oh, yes, she does,'_ Master hisses maliciously. _'This is going to make killing her very easy...'_  
  
His voice starts out as a loud, scraping sound, thrashing inside my head till the pain from hearing it almost blinds me - but by the end of his phrase, it grows fainter and fainter... Just as it always does when I am near Aredhel. The warmth of her body next to mine, the sweet, slightly sujamma-scented breath on my cheek, and the unmistakable hot tingle just below my stomach - all of this chases away the disembodied voice commanding me. I am now possessed by a different force, which is nothing like a blood-thirsty spirit dwelling inside a haunted barrow.  
  
I grip Aredhel's elbow a little tighter, swallowing the prickly, salty liquid that has been brewing inside my mouth. She looks at me in surprise; the cold, fresh breeze, which changed direction after yesterday's ash storm had settled, has chased off some of her fleeting tipsiness, and she is slowly drawing away from me. I keep holding her close, however, dreading the moment when my elation will be tainted by the return of my Master's voice.  
  
'Aredhel...' I ask her suddenly, my voice hoary and faltering. 'You said... You have not had any suitors... Does this mean... you have not... lain with anyone?'  
  
Master awoke again when I started speaking; and he has been tearing at me from within this entire time. His anger is only too natural; I am supposed to kill Aredhel, not try to seduce her... But I cannot help it. Walking so close to her - it is... it is too much.  
  
I half-expect my question to offend her - but it does not. Her reply to me is just as calm and frank as most of the things she says.  
  
'I have never had what you might call a lover,' she explains softly. 'I have been with a few men, though... When I first began studying various cultures of Tamriel, human cultures especially, I was amazed at the variety of ways in which... men and women enjoy each other's company. Naturally, I was eager to experiment; and there were plenty of those who were just as eager to aid me. But once my curiosity was sated, I moved on and never returned to the practice. I - ' her lips twitch a little, 'I guess I did not harbour sufficient affection towards anyone I'd chosen... Until now'.  
  
Those two words are like two extra glasses of sujamma. I stagger a little, my gaze chained to her eyes, those gleaming emerald eyes, so open and warm and sincere... A burning crack runs along my skull as Master commands me to stop being a fool - but I do not care. All I care about is Aredhel - speaking.  
  
'I... I am not sure why I am telling you this...' she murmurs, addressing both me and herself, 'Perhaps it's the sujamma... But - but there really is something that I feel every time we meet... It's hard to explain... Lydia thinks you are a skilled trickster that has wrapped me round his finger... That you are only interested in my money... But I... I...'  
  
'Aredhel,' I breathe, the inside of my whole body tying itself up into a tight, pulsing knot. 'Aredhel...'  
  
We have reached the campsite now. It is deserted; the mercenaries must have gone to explore the excavation. I stop opposite my tent and, tiptoeing slightly, reach up to Aredhel's face and kiss her. Master screeches in fury as I grind my mouth hard against Aredhel's, my tongue wildly seeking out hers - but I do not stop; I do not fall back. The pain that is raging inside my head seems to make the pleasure of tasting her even more poignant. I keep kissing her, shuddering ecstatically as she returns my feral bites at her lips - and sweep her blindly towards my tent.  
  
Breathless, stifled by the heat that consumes us both, we tumble down onto my bedroll; I pull down her hood and dig my fingers into her hair, undoing her two ponytails and letting the heavy, fragrant mass of gold cascade down at the sides of my face - and she circles her hands across my chest, scissoring my lower body with her knees...  
  
 _'Kill her! Kill her! Kill her!'_ Master chants wildly inside my head.   
  
I ignore him, inebriated by my bold disobedience; I know that he will punish me - but it seems to me that this will happen in some far-off, future era... For now, I have scorchingly hot golden flesh pressing against mine, as I free it of that ridiculous robe...  
  
'My Thane?!'  
  
Aredhel and I freeze, her still bending down with her tongue in my ear.  
  
The steadfast Housecarl must have shaken off the effects of the poison; she is now standing on the tent's threshold, her steel-clad chest heaving from the long race towards the barrow.  
  
'You damn gold-digging grey-skin!' she rages as Aredhel climbs off me, groping for her clothing. 'I knew it! I was on to you from the moment I saw you! You want my Thane to make you her lover, so you can suck even more money out of her - don't you?! Don't you?! You must have used some sort of evil magic, too, because no way in Oblivion would a lady like my Thane fall for some shrivelled old elf!'  
  
'He is not shrivelled and old,' Aredhel protests squeakily. 'Mer age differently from your kind, you should know that...'  
  
Lydia ignores her; instead, she steps towards me, places her boot on my bared, sweating chest, and forces me to look at her by lifting my chin with the tip of her sword.  
  
'Don't you dare send us one of your couriers again,' she pants, her eyes flashing like daggers. 'We are done with you'.  
  
'But Lydia - ' Aredhel mouths helplessly; as an Altmer, she must be decades, if not centuries, older than her companion - but still, she behaves like a little girl scolded by her mother.  
  
The Housecarl snorts contemptuously and struts out of the tent, her Thane trotting meekly after her. I remain alone; I want to get up, to run after them, to try and explain - but I am too weak. Crushed. Drained. Overwhelmed by how abruptly it all ended - my little journey to paradise. I lay on my back, with my hand resting on my chest, a loose golden hair trapped my fingers. I lay staring at the canvas ceiling, waiting submissively for the darkness to come and sweep me off in its wake.  
  
And come it does. Pitch-black, impenetrable darkness. Woven out of rustling whispers, which pierce my temples, enter my blood and flow with it through my whole body. Ripping at me. Shattering me to pieces, melting me in dark fire and moulding me anew.  
  
I am Ralis. Slave of the mighty Azhidal. Soon, I shall rise and try to atone for my foolish mistake by killing all the mercenaries inside the barrow and sacrificing their souls to my Master. But for now, I lay on my back, with my hand resting on my chest - and trapped between my fingers, there is golden hair that belongs to the woman that I was supposed to slay. The woman whose name stirs no echoes as it rings through my cold, empty chest. The woman who means nothing to me.


End file.
